


A New Horizon

by Helrose



Category: Makai Ouji: Devils and Realist
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8688475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helrose/pseuds/Helrose
Summary: After King Solomon dies, Dantalion is given the task of finding William Twining and putting him on the throne as the new king. He never planned to fall in love with him through the chaos and unrest of the court. Human Fantasy AU.





	1. Chapter 1

The bells stopped ringing the night prior to the summons. It seemed the entire kingdom had gone as quiet as death. Dantalion turned his eyes to the trees and then lingered his gaze over the skyline, but he heard nothing and saw not a single bird. There was something ominous in this silence as if death's devastating touch had taken more than just the youthful king with it. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself and continued to trudge through the fallen leaves until he neared closer to the old, great tower where he used to spend many evenings and nights with the king.

His steps slowed to a halt, reminding himself that Solomon was not the one awaiting him in the cozy library with the fireplace aglow and the two of them alone, talking about the future of the kingdom and holding each other as the flames burned out at the crack of dawn. He would find no more comfort here. Solomon's belongings would only remind him of what he lost and what the grieving country had lost.

But it was too cold to linger outside with his anguish and whatever meaning behind the summons would not wait on his own terms. He wasn't a confidant of a royal anymore. A knight, though celebrated, still had to follow orders. Each remaining step he took felt as heavy as iron.

He was about to reach to open the tower's heavy door when someone from the inside pushed it ajar. Dantalion caught of glimpse of the man's face but said nothing.

"Don't loiter out there, Sir Dantalion," said the man with a gruff voice. "They are all waiting for you to come inside. You best come along now or they'll find someone else for the task and I'm sure you don't want that."

Dantalion set his jaw as he came through the doorway. He could hear the hushed chatter of men down the corridor. These old stone walls with dark shadows lingering behind every nook and cranny hid nothing except what was already made history. He followed the man, a guard, at a safe, practiced distance.

Despite the summons he received with the king's familiar waxed seal, he could not help but to be wary of the circumstances. Meetings of this sort of secrecy would either lead to a dangerous mission, which he had become accustomed to, or an assassination. There were many noblemen who would embrace a purge of Solomon's favorites and Dantalion was the chief among them.

At the end of the corridor, the guard abruptly stopped and turned to Dantalion. He said not a word but rapped on the wooden door in consecutive threes. The voices on the other side of the door fell quiet and within seconds the door creaked open.

Eyeing the entrance of the room, Dantalion glanced to the guard and then stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him. He arched his head, taking in every sound from the howl of the wind to the clawing of rats, hearing nothing to heighten his alarm.

Five men were huddled at the long table near the fireplace. They were nobles or perhaps distant relatives of Solomon and his court judging from the fine clothes they wore and the jewels around their fingers. The goblets were full of wine, suggesting they had been here for some time. Dantalion stared at the five in a dull stupor and thought of the knife tucked in his boot. Noblemen weren't the kind to do their own dirty work, but men were not to be judged by face value alone. Solomon taught him as much. He felt he had learned many secrets of the world just from being in the presence of that one man. One man and his fragile existence.

Finally, a balding man stood to his feet, bracing his balance with a hand pressed against the surface of the table. The table once was used for sharing of secrets and the unfurling of parchments which Solomon could trust that no other eyes would see here where the comfort loving court didn't roam. Dantalion balled his hands into fists at his sides.

"Thank you for your punctuality, Sir Dantalion," crooned the noble, earning laughter from those around him. "I believe you took your time coming here tonight unless you misplaced yourself again."

"It's a long walk from the village, Lord Gallegos, though I doubt you would know that." Dantalion strode towards the head of the table, eyeing each face. "I'm here now, so why don't you start explaining exactly why I was called here in the first place. I'm sure you're all eager to return to your manors and to your wives—and mistresses."

Lord Gallegos, apparently the spokesman of the group, nodded and offered Dantalion a glass of wine. Dantalion rejected it with a wave of his hand.

"As you—ah—are aware of the throne is empty," said Gallegos. "—and we, of course, must see that it doesn't remain that way. Solomon is disregarding or should I say had disregarded the line of succession and chosen his own heir, which is why we've summoned you."

Dantalion furrowed his brows as he processed the nobleman's words. He tried to recall a time when he and Solomon might have discussed the topic of succession. No such memory came to mind. He believed it unlikely that Solomon thought of his own death, at least so soon in the prime of his life. Dantalion knew he himself hadn't thought of it, didn't want to think of it, not even now.

He shook his head and sighed. How was it that his king could surprise him even in death? "Solomon chose his own heir?" he spoke, meaning it more as a statement rather than a question.

"Yes, it's certainly shocking. I'm sure all of us here are all the more confounded that you didn't know. However, the words are spelled out in his last will and testament rather clearly. His heir is someone called Twining."

"William Twining," said another man, one of the oldest among them. "He doesn't even have a title. I'd imagine he might be a bastard child. The village of Rosethorn has historically had its share of them."

"Of whom I wonder? He must have some royal blood to be considered worthy enough for Solomon to choose him, after all," speculated another while emptying his goblet.

Dantalion listened as the men continued to question the origin of the heir apparent's name. He moved to the fireplace to warm his hands, pretending the last few days were only a series of bad dreams. Pretending was always easier. It was something else he had in common with the king.

"Nonetheless, we must find this Twining and put him on the throne," stressed Lord Gallegos with finality. He turned to look upon Dantalion, the knight's back facing him. "This is where you come in, Sir Dantalion, we're trusting you to find this heir of Solomon's and bring him back here so that the kingdom's distress can be put at ease. People start to panic when a sovereign dies and there's yet to be a replacement. I'm sure you understand this. We don't want another rebellion, a fight for the crown again."

What was it to him if the kingdom burned or if a power hungry bastard took over it? Dantalion thought he could simply walk away and live out the remainder of his life as a nomad, but doing so would tarnish the legacy that Solomon left behind. He could do this one last thing for him, and then he'd be free. Whatever freedom would mean for someone like himself. A man tormented by much and comforted by so little.

Dantalion turned and gazed down at the men. They now watched him in silence. "If I go and collect this man, what payment will you offer me? You can't be naive enough to believe that all problems will simply vanish once someone whom many will call a pretender takes the throne. If anything, your fellow noblemen will organize a movement to seize control. Are you prepared for that?"

Two of the men avoided Dantalion's gaze, however, the other three weren't surprised by his words. They knew the kind of man Solomon's favorite was and that's why they had called him above all else.

Lord Gallegos spoke once more, "We're aware of the consequences and failure might be one of them. Many of us cannot accept rulership from those already trying to claim it. You may not know this yet, but a neighboring kingdom is already making plans to invade. We need a king. Solomon must have made this choice for a reason. And we'll do all in our power to make you a duke, a grand duke even."

He would be lying to himself if he thought the payment wasn't an attractive one. With a title meant money and lands, he would make a name for himself. At least one that was more than the one he carried heavy on his shoulders already.

"I will find this William Twining."


	2. Chapter 2

The rats had been busy. He heard them clawing and squeaking throughout the night, like most every night. It wasn’t until this morning when the desire to read and write down a few thoughts did he discover the true horror of what the rodents had done. 

William cursed under his breath as he inspected the edges of his books. The covers had already been worn with use and the pages were stained from dusty fingers and mysterious blotches he could only assume where remnants of some long ago supper. He could still read them in that state, but now he was not so lucky. The corners of the books and their pages had been chewed by literacy hating disease carriers. 

He grunted in disgust, checking through the other belongings in the crate where he kept most everything besides his clothes. He considered wrapping his things with some cloth into a tight bundle. It would keep the rats at bay if only long enough for him to get up and beat them with a stick until they knew not to mess with William Twining. He already had ideas to invent a trap to ensnare the little devils. He could already imagine his fellow villagers praising him for ridding Rosethorn of their greatest menace, but for now he was considered to be just another village boy despite being at the stage of young manhood at the ripe age of seventeen. 

Once satisfied that his belongings would remain safe while he was away for the day, he brushed his fingers through his disheveled hair and then beat the collected dust off the knees of his breeches. He was careful about his appearance, after all he believed as the village’s prime letter writer and more often than not—reader of the village’s letters, he had to look dignified. Even if farmers brought their filthy, fattened pigs along while they dictated messages for him to write. 

Despite the chill in the air, the sun beamed down upon the village of two hundred and expecting persons. William blinked and brought a hand just above his brow to shield his eyes from the painful light and to avoid bumping into someone or stepping in anything revolting. The last thing he needed to do was to slip in horse manure, again. He felt the prickling sensation of shame burning at his fair cheeks and he wondered why that memory came to mind in the first place. 

Near the small, and in obvious need of repair, cottage house which served for letters and all other official correspondence or news to be delivered in and out of Rosethorn, was the apothecary and home to one of the richest men in the village. William admired the owner, Mr. Rothwain, for his mind for business but believed most of his cure-alls he touted were simply nonsensical witchdoctor brews. And while he rarely ever spent so much as a single copper piece in the apothecary, William sometimes would enter the shop long enough to visit his admittedly one of so few friends. 

Today, however, it was Isaac who had come to see him. William barely stepped over the dirty threshold when he heard his name called out a little too loudly than what was necessary, causing any passersby to stare at the two of them. William scowled and turned enough to glance towards his friend. “Shouldn’t you be working or is Rothwain paying you to disrupt everyone else’s?” 

Isaac merely laughed at William’s question and then smiled. “Business is slow this morning,” he said, pausing, and then glancing into the small cottage. “—but it seems it is for you, too.” 

“Well, most people don’t come early!” William quickly retorted. “I just prefer to arrive early myself and have everything sorted and ready for when they do. Organization is key above all else, it’s something I hope you’re learning from your master. You’re lucky he accepted you as his apprentice, you know.” 

Isaac nodded at his friend’s remarks with a gracious smile and followed William inside the building. “Of course I am, but someday I still hope to become a magician or maybe even a fortune teller.”

“Those are occupational names meaning that you can legally steal money from weak-minded individuals. It’s a good marketing ploy, but still an apothecary is more suitable. At least, you would be helping the villagers if you didn’t sell witchdoctor cures,” William said, hunching over the fireplace to get some proper heat started. “And the last thing you need is to be accused of being a witch, just think of your mother.”

“But there hasn’t been any arrests or executions of witches in recent years or officially from what I know.” Isaac furrowed his brows, knowing that people often took power into their own hands despite what was legal and what was not. Many customers of the apothecary, himself included, were superstitious. William, he thought, might be right with what he was saying. 

After fumbling to get a fire started, William stood to his full height. “I’ll have to collect more kindling by the end of the day. I think we could make that a dual effort if you don’t get too busy later.” He rubbed his hands together in an effort to warm them and then he moved towards the desk where the quills, inks, and parchments were kept. He sat down and wrapped his arms around himself while Isaac opted to remain closer to the fireplace. They stared at each other briefly before a knock ripped through the silence, causing them both to startle in surprise. 

William stood as an unknown figure entered through the door, a gust of cold air following like an uninvited guest. The stranger wore a dark cape, its hood remaining over his face. William watched the movement of the fabric and realized the man was retrieving something. William made eye contact with Isaac, though the boy said nothing. 

“Make sure this gets to William Twining,” spoke the stranger as he extended an envelope which had a peculiar crimson stain near the corner. “I found the original messenger close to death, and he made me promise to deliver this for him. I don’t require payment.” 

William reluctantly accepted the envelope and uttered a rather weak agreement that he would see this letter to that particular fellow. He and Isaac then waited until the man left before tearing into the contents of the letter. After reading through it once, he purposely blinked and then read it again to himself. 

“What does it say?” Isaac asked, the anticipation too much for him. 

His friend drew a breath and began to read it aloud.

"To our future king, 

It is with great sadness when a country loses a monarch like that of King Solomon in his youthful prime of life. A great cloud of despair is above all, from the nobles to the common people of every village. But as we mourn, we must remember that in order to keep the country strong there must be a leader to look up to—to take command and strength from. 

King Solomon, in all his unmatched wisdom, has appointed you as his heir. This may come as a surprise to you, as it has for the few of us which know of this. We, those who will be your guidance upon your arrival, coronation, and thereafter, have sent a knight to guard you on your travels to the capital city. His name is Sir Dantalion. We urge you not to trust anyone else and use an invented name if anyone should ask your identity.

Servants to Your Majesty,

Lord G."

~~~  
to be continued.


	3. Chapter 3

The messenger had long been dead. Dantalion crouched over the man’s corpse, perplexed and yet annoyed with the messenger’s failure to fight off his attacker. At first thought, he assumed it was at the hands of a common robber. But now upon close inspection, Dantalion realized the knife, which was still stuck in this nameless man’s gut, was one of a certain quality much too valuable for a petty thief to own—even if it had been stolen. Dantalion wrapped his hand around the handle, yanking it out from within the victim. He wiped the mess from the sharp blade onto the grass around himself. And as the sunlight reflected from it, the intricate design on the blade itself became apparent. A spider coming down from its web. Baalberith. 

Dantalion remounted his horse and set off as fast as the mare could go. He still had a lot of miles to go and, he feared, not enough time to reach William before they could. He hoped the man, his future king, would not be fool enough to trust anyone with a quick smile and a silver tongue. Otherwise, his time would be wasted. 

By the time the sun had set in the sky, the faint outline of the village was finally within his line of sight. His mare snorted with impatience, tired from the day’s journey. He slid off the saddle and guided her by the reigns, promising to make it up to her when they returned to the palace with fine oats, carrots, and clusters of sugar. The promise seemed to placate her as she followed where her master led her. 

Now he just had to find where this William Twining lived.  
\---  
The first straggler Dantalion came across was too drunk to comprehend his question. In great irritation, Dantalion pushed past him in search of someone with a better grasp on reality. Few were out this time of night besides common drunkards and village dogs. He saw no signs of outside intrusions besides his own presence. The beginnings of relief tugged at his wearied mind. Perhaps he had beat all others here after all, but he was not yet convinced. Baalberith had a peculiar way of finding out secrets long before most others could. He was always a snake in the grass—or more precisely that spider lurking in the darkest corners of the room—always scurrying away before he could be dealt with. 

He found an elderly woman tossing out waste just outside her shack of a home. Catching her curious gaze, Dantalion approached her with a polite—although obviously very forced smile. “I’m in search of someone named William Twining. Do you know where I can find this man?” 

The woman lowered her gaze to the sodden ground before her and snorted. “What is he to you?” she asked, defensive. Quickly assuming the worst of him. “He’s a good boy. Knows his letters he does. Ain’t a bone of trouble in him.” 

She would have rambled on about the Twining’s graces had not Dantalion interrupted. It was, at least, clear to him that she knew William Twining. His long journey to find the new king was nearly complete. 

His irritation slowly dispelling, he implored the woman to help him with a gentle voice. “I’m a friend of his. I just need to know his whereabouts. Please, it’s very important that I see him as soon as possible.”

Pursing her lips, the woman finally relented. “All right, all right, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that little Will has fancy looking friends.” She squinted at him and then at his mare waiting behind him. “The sweet child lives near the center, the house with green shutters.” 

Dantalion bowed, thanking her for her assistance. He pulled his mare’s reins and continued his journey through the village. The stars above the sleepy settlement were scattered like jewels on a rich man’s table and the moon was now bright and clear. When he finally spotted the small house with green shutters, he quickened his pace. If everything went according to plan, he and his new king would be leaving first thing in the morning. There was no time to waste.

Standing now at the door of the house, Dantalion listened for any hint of occupancy. He could hear a voice and then another, but once he knocked on the door to make his presence known all inside had gone as silent as death. Behind him, his mare bobbed her head as if urging her master to just go ahead and break in. The two of them understood each other. 

He was about to knock again when the latch on the other side was unlocked. The door groaned, and a pair of eyes peeked out through the crack. 

“Hello?” The voice sounded skeptical, perhaps even nervous. “What do you want at this hour?” 

“My name is Dantalion and I’m here for William Twining,” Dantalion responded, growing impatient of explaining himself. “I am to bring this man to the palace at once.” 

The person on the other side of the door closed it shut once more, furiously whispering to their companion. Soon enough, however, Dantalion was greeted by the two persons inside. A hesitant looking blond—much younger than expected and a bright-eyed, grinning companion of his. 

“How do I know you really are this Sir Dantalion?” countered the one who looked so much like Solomon that it pained Dantalion to even glance at him. “You could be an imposter. Prove yourself or I’ll hand you over to the authorities for impersonation.” 

How could this be? 

Dantalion cleared his throat and slipped his fingers into his pocket. “My proof is this.” He held out Solomon’s ring—a creation that was truly one of a kind—rumored by many to hold a power unlike any magician had ever welded before. Even a simple villager could tell you about its wonders in elaborate detail—but only he and Solomon had known the truth of it all.

William’s companion was the first to react. “Wooow! You really are going to be king, William!” He reached out to touch the ring, but William caught his wrist.

“Come inside,” William said to Dantalion, though looking at Isaac. “You can tie your horse there and then we will talk about this...nonsense.” 

 

to be continued.


	4. Chapter 4

Despite how meticulous he kept his home, William was hyperaware of just how quaint and meager his surroundings appeared now that a knight stood in the middle of the main room—which seemed all the more claustrophobic.

He gave Isaac a long side eyed glance in hopes he’d take the hint to remain quiet. They didn’t know who they were dealing with and one look at this ‘Sir Dantalion’ was enough to calculate they would have little or in absolute terms no fighting chance against this man. He emitted an aura of danger. It wasn’t wise to piss off the muscle-headed kind. A knife or a sword to the gut would be the end all. And William wasn’t in the mood to die.

The corners of Dantalion’s lips cursed into a smile as Isaac went and offered him some water to refresh him from his journey. William quietly studied his features. He was not terribly old but instead rather youthful. He couldn’t pinpoint his age but would guess that Dantalion was at least in his mid-twenties. Begrudgingly, too, was the fact that this knight was not unpleasant to look at. He was tall and well-built as far as William could tell. He was sure he and Isaac looked like thumb sucking children compared to him and the other fighting men of the kingdom.

“Have a seat,” William said after clearing his throat. He gestured to the small round table in the far side corner of the room. It had only two chairs and one of them sported a notoriously bad leg which once ungraciously sent William falling to the floor. An utterly embarrassing memory.

Dantalion walked across the room in a mere two quick strides and sat down on the _good_ chair. It groaned under his weight. He finished off his cup of water and placed it tentatively on the rough surface of the table.

William licked his bottom lip, wishing the man would get on with whatever he was here for and go. His presence made him nervous—not the same excited kind of nervous which Isaac expressed with a wide grin as giddy and bright as the sun.

The rich and influential were dangerous. He and Isaac along with the people within their village were often no better than livestock to them. The whole lot of them could burn down to the ground and that would simply be that. To say he held a grudge against the very kind of people he longed to be was an understatement. But he had to be cautious—because who would defend two doe-eyed country nobodies from danger?

“I take it that you may have a lot of questions—” Dantalion started, straightening his posture slightly as he lifted his chin towards the still standing and very skeptical looking boy.

“You can bet your horse I do,” William snapped, his voice harsher than he had meant it to be. He turned his head, his cheeks turning soft pink. “As—As you can expect this king nonsense is, well, unexpected. There _must_ be some sort of mistake.”

After all, could King Solomon really be dead? He had heard no talk of this within the village. Although news could often be slow—it was gossip which reached ears far faster. Not that he personally cared about the king’s death. The only deaths which ever truly bothered him were those of his parents years ago. It was a bitter memory.

“Start from the beginning,” he told Dantalion, stubborn in his attempt to stare at anything else but him. “See if you can convince me that this is not some cruel game.”

As he waited for the man to gather his thoughts, William dragged a large overturned crate close—but not too close to the table where the knight sat—so he and the oddly silent Isaac could sit down.

His hand still gripping the empty glass in front of him, Dantalion exhaled. While an explanation was due, he didn’t want to sit and talk all night. He wanted to be on his horse and on his way back to the palace _now._

Time was of the essence. He had the feeling, however, that his future king would be far too stubborn to even consider leaving without that demanded explanation.

Under the table, he held Solomon’s ring tight. After tonight this ring would no longer be his to hold—another piece of the man he loved would be stripped from him. He still couldn’t comprehend the whirlwind events surrounding it all.

“King Solomon is dead,” Dantalion said, his voice low and severe. He hated saying those words.  

“We gathered that much,” replied William, now resting his chin against the palm of his hand with his elbow on his knee. “That news hasn’t reached the village but I assume it will soon enough. We were expecting you by word of a mysterious letter.”

William considered showing the letter to Dantalion. It was tucked in the waist of his pants. He didn’t know what prying eyes would do with such questionable information—given the chance someone literate found it—but he wouldn’t leave that opportunity out for the taking.

Dantalion froze in place. How had Lord Gallegos’s correspondence reached William? He found the messenger dead _on the way_ to the village.  There was no way he reached the heir apparent before his demise.

That knife in his saddlebag. . . A spider coming down from its web. _Of course_. Not only was King Baalberith somehow privy to the circumstances, he also sent one of his lackeys to kill the messenger and personally deliver the letter to William. And if he had to guess which lackey it was—he would bet his horse it was Lord Gilles de Rais. What he didn’t understand was why. The boy could have easily been taken or killed.

Then again, Baalberith was all about mind games.

Isaac glanced to William with concern before turning to the knight. “So…what caused his death?” He wasn’t one to study up on the royalty. William was the one who could name nearly everyone of importance but that was primarily within their isolated region. A mayor, sheriff, or a small time Lord was their glittering crowns to compare themselves to. The king and his kin had always been alluded to but not a tangible entity—well—save for when the taxes increased or the calls to join some pointless war.

Dantalion found himself hesitant to answer. He knew the _what_. He didn’t know the _why_. “That’s not important right now. What _is_ important is that William comes with me to the palace to take his place as king.” He paused, standing up to his feet. “For some reason, and don’t ask me why because clearly no one but Solomon knew, you are his intended heir for the throne. You cannot refuse.”

He _could_ refuse but Dantalion would rather crawl to Hell and back on his knees than to leave Solomon’s last wishes unfulfilled.

William shook his head. How could Sir Dantalion expect him to believe this? He couldn’t be an heir to anything other than this house, what his parents had left behind after their deaths. He wasn’t royalty and he certainly didn’t have aristocratic connections. _Or did he?_

“I found this terribly difficult to believe. You must understand that.” William’s fair complexion had gone even paler.  Isaac placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder but that didn’t ease the turmoil within him. The allure of power and riches was one thing but to be responsible an entire kingdom? He would feel like a pretender. And pretenders often met the gallows or worse.

“I understand.” Dantalion wasn’t trying to placate William because he understood how this all sounded. If someone came riding in to tell him he was the next king of such and such country, he wouldn’t believe it. He had been a village nobody too.

He stepped closer to William and reluctantly held out Solomon’s ring between two fingers, acutely aware of its weight—as if the whole world resided within it.

“This is yours now,” he said just barely above a whisper. “Protect it like you would your life.” He thought of telling the boy that this was no ordinary ring but William seemed intelligent enough to know that, even if he had yet to understand its true nature.

William focused his gaze on the ring. It was a handsome object indeed. He was no jeweler but he’d imagine it would fetch a sum he could only dream about. He stretched out his hand and took the ring. “All right,” he said simply.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from it. A _king_ owned this. How surreal. It was beginning to dawn on him how real this apparently was.

Dantalion seemed satisfied. He placed his hands on his hips, looking every inch of an imposing figure. “Gather a few of your possessions and we’ll leave now. There’s no time to waste.” He was going to say more but the blank expression on William’s face confused him into silence.

“We’ll leave in the morning,” William said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Dantalion contorted his lips into an impatient scowl. Did he not understand the gravity of the situation?

“You look beastly and I’m not parading around in the dark with you.” William sighed, waving Dantalion off. The dark circles under Sir Dantalion’s eyes suggested he hadn’t slept and the last thing William wanted was to be killed in some form or another because the knight was tired.

He held up a hand, a silent signal letting the knight know that his decision was final.  No ifs ands or buts. “Besides I have to resign my post and tie up loose ends. I have a life here you know,” added William. “You can sleep and in the morning after I’m finished doing so we can go.”

Dantalion set his jaw and nodded. He _was_ tired, a nagging ache and tense muscles throughout his body screamed for a reprieve. And by his new would-be-king’s order, he would have one.

While William disappeared into what he assumed was the boy’s bedroom, Dantalion walked to the door of the little house and got down on the floor to stretch out. It wasn’t comfortable—he could feel cold gusts of air coming from the cracks under the doorway but he had slept in worse places.

Isaac, who was watching him during the entire exchange, craned his neck to see what the mysterious stranger was doing. “Sir Dantalion? Why not sleep near the fireplace?”

Sighing, his eyes already closed, Dantalion answered, “If someone tries to break in, they’ll have to get through me.”

“Ooh..” Isaac hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

A pillow went whooshing through the air by Isaac’s head. He flinched but quickly realized the real target was Sir Dantalion—hitting the knight square in the face.

Dantalion was off the floor in an instant, ready to defend himself from an unknown assailant.  He only came to his senses when he saw Isaac giggling and William smirking at him by the bedroom doorway.

_Brats._

“Nice to see you have good reflexes.” William laughed, his expression smug. He then tossed an old woolen blanket to Dantalion but this time the knight caught it with ease. “Well, goodnight, Sir Knight.”

William regarded his friend with a yawn before going back into his bedroom. “You can stay in my room if you wish, Isaac. No need to bother him for the time being.

Dantalion settled back down begrudgingly with the pillow and blanket. The morning couldn’t come soon enough.

  

To be continued. 

  

**A/N: That was a looong hiatus.**

 


End file.
